Edge of Honor: An EDGE Security Novel

by Loye, Trish

  Her aunt’s eyes widened. “Charlotte!”

  “What?”

  “Narinder is not my date, you silly girl.” She laughed a little and Charlie knew from years of experience how forced it was. “Don’t pay attention to her, Narinder. Remember I told you about her sense of humor.” Her aunt glared at her, her face hidden from Narinder, who stood behind her.

  Narinder shifted from foot to foot, his gaze going from the back of her aunt’s head to Charlie and back. “Uh, it’s nice to meet you, Charlotte.”

  Charlie felt sorry for the man caught up in her aunt’s matchmaking, but not sorry enough to stay for dinner. That way lay trouble. Once her aunt started on an idea, there was no stopping her. She might have looked like an older Bollywood star with her wide eyes and high cheekbones, but inside she was a bulldog who would never let go of her bone.

  “Charlotte,” Aunt G said. “Please get our guest a drink while I finish with dinner. Get to know each other.”

  Charlie crossed her arms. “Bua, I have to pack. We’re heading to London tomorrow.”

  “The IET conference?” Narinder asked. “Sorry, but your aunt told me you were an engineer. I’m an audiologist, and I’ve been dying to go to it.”

  A sinking feeling entered Charlie’s stomach. If she answered him, her aunt would take that as a sign that this date was happening. But she hated to be rude to those hound-dog eyes. She nodded once and tried to jump from the sinking ship that was this evening. “We’re leaving tomorrow right after work, so I can’t—”

  “Nonsense,” Aunt G said briskly. “You must eat dinner at some point. Get the drinks, Charlotte. I’ll bring dinner out shortly.”

  Charlie almost groaned aloud. Narinder smiled at her. “I’d love to hear about the tech conference. I know your aunt says that you want to quit work as soon as you marry, but I think women should work at least until they have little ones running around. That is, unless you hate your job as much as your aunt says.”

  She was going to need hard alcohol for this.

  Charlie dropped her coat and purse on a chair before opening the cabinet where they kept their wine and meager supply of liquor. She grabbed a bottle.

  “You drink gin?” Narinder asked, doubt clouding his tone. “But…”

  “Dirty martinis, actually,” she said, snagging the vermouth and a jar of olives. She mixed the drink into a martini glass and plopped three olives in, along with a healthy dollop of olive juice from the jar. She stopped the drip on her glass with a finger and then licked the salty liquid off. “Want one?”

  Narinder’s eyes were wide. He shook his head. “I don’t drink alcohol.”

  She frowned. “You’re not a baptized Sikh.” If he had been, he’d be wearing a turban to control his hair and his beard would be longer. Baptized Sikhs weren’t allowed to cut their hair.

  “It’s a personal choice,” he said.

  “So’s this,” she said, lifting the drink in a salute and taking a healthy swallow. “Can I get you something else? Coffee or tea? Water?”

  He shook his head.

  “Right. Well, I really do have to pack for tomorrow. It was nice to meet you,” she said. She took her drink, coat, and purse and went up the stairs to her room. She pressed her lips together, refusing to feel sorry for the man. It was her aunt who’d put him in that awkward situation.

  Predictably, two minutes later her aunt flung open her door. “Really, Charlotte? I thought I’d taught you better. Your father would be so disappointed.”

  She’d gone right to the big guns. Charlie hadn’t seen her father in three years, and hadn’t spoken to him in six months. The man had never wanted a daughter, saw no use in them, and he spent most of the time ignoring the fact that he had one.

  Charlie had learned long ago not to think of her father as anything but a man who sent them money to pay for the rent when she was younger. Her aunt had always worked part-time to help sustain them. Charlie’s father was a wealthy medical doctor in Mumbai. He’d remarried after her mother’s death when she was eight and now had four healthy sons. He couldn’t have been happier.

  She’d hated going to India when she was little. Oh, she’d loved the country, the food, and even her half-brothers when they’d been younger, but she’d hated being in her father’s house, always knowing that she was tolerated but never loved. She’d stopped going when she was sixteen, hoping her father would miss her and come see her.

  He’d only shown up when she was seventeen and had threatened to run away with a boy he didn’t know. A teenage marriage wasn’t something that happened in Dr. Singh’s family, even to his estranged daughter.

  She never would have married the boy. She’d only been on one date, but her father hadn’t known that.

  Because he hadn’t known her.

  He’d screamed at her for two hours and then gone to a hotel to sleep, as if he couldn’t stand being in the same house as her. The incident had destroyed any illusions she’d still held.

  Charlie flopped onto her bed, unwilling to get into this with her aunt. “You know he doesn’t give a flying fuck.”

  “Charlotte! How can you say that? My brother cares about us.”

  And there it was. While Charlie had accepted long ago that her father didn’t actually care, her aunt still held onto the belief that her brother did. Even though he’d sent his older sister away to take care of his child because his new wife didn’t want them around. Her aunt had never married and had dutifully taken care of Charlotte like a good sister. Aunt G couldn’t acknowledge that she’d been used.

  Charlie sighed. And she couldn’t be the one to break it to her. So she went back to the pertinent topic. Narinder.

  “Bua, I really do need to pack.”

  “Charlotte, what will I tell him? He’s a nice boy. He doesn’t deserve to be embarrassed because I made a mistake.”

  And Charlie was caught. Why couldn’t she be someone who didn’t care about other people’s feelings? She was going to go downstairs and have dinner with someone she didn’t want to know, just so he didn’t feel bad.

  She sighed and got off her bed. “Fine, Bua. I’ll be down in a minute.”

  Her aunt smiled. “Why don’t you freshen your makeup a bit before you come down?”

  “Don’t push it,” she growled, but her aunt had already left.

  3

  One exhausting seven hour, red-eye flight later, Charlie, her aunt, and Cat arrived at the Corinthia Hotel, where the conference was being held. Cat was posing as Charlie’s lab assistant, since she knew enough about chemicals and explosives to fake her way through some geek talk.

  Dante had taken a separate cab and would get a separate room, in order to avoid raising suspicion. After tapping into the hotel’s security cameras, he’d keep an eye on them remotely. If all went well, Charlie wouldn’t even see Dante on this trip.

  A black-suited porter held the taxi door for her, while another went to the trunk to retrieve the luggage. The Corinthia was a luxury five-star hotel. She’d researched it after the embarrassing dinner with Narinder and had almost booked a massage in its spa, but as much as she’d like to pamper herself, pre-conference activities started that afternoon and she needed her spare time to cross-check the list of twenty potential suspects she and Dante had come up with.

  “This looks lovely,” her aunt said with a sigh.

  Charlie agreed. The hotel was made of stone with arched windows, wrought iron railings on the small balconies, and stone gargoyles guarding its roof.

  “Posh might be an appropriate word,” Cat said.

  The glass hotel doors were held open by two men in suits with tails and top hats. The lobby was large, with a beautiful crystal chandelier hanging under a glass roof. Men and women in suits crowded the area. A disproportionate number of them wore eyeglasses. Did being a scientist mean that one had to have failing eyesight?

  She snorted to herself. The lack of sleep was playing havoc with her brain. She checked her watch. Nine. They’d flown the red-
eye and now it was just after breakfast. Her seat on the plane had stretched out so she’d slept a bit on the flight, but it definitely hadn’t been a restful eight hours. Or even five.

  “I’ll check us in,” Cat said. “Why don’t you grab a seat with your aunt while I do?”

  Charlie stifled a yawn and hitched her messenger bag higher on her shoulder. “I think I’ll scope out the lobby.”

  Cat’s eyes narrowed. “Q, this isn’t your mission. You’re here to present your work and enjoy London. Gears and I are here only as a precaution. Nothing is going to happen, so don’t be on high alert or you’ll be chasing ghosts before you know it.”

  Charlie tried not to be hurt by Cat’s words. She knew she was just a lab rat and not an operator, but still the lack of faith from her friend hurt. She took a deep breath and pushed the hurt aside. Cat was only looking out for her. Charlie shouldn’t get so emotional about it.

  She lifted her chin. “I know this isn’t an op, Cat. Blackwell already explained that. I only wanted to stretch my legs.”

  Cat smiled sheepishly. “Sorry, Charlie. I just don’t want you to overthink this. Gears and I have the list of people to keep an eye on, so you’re good to just enjoy the conference.”

  She nodded and walked back to her aunt. Cat was right, of course. She had to stop thinking of this as a mission. The chances of Spider showing up were slim.

  She settled her aunt in a nearby chair, but didn’t sit herself. She really did need to walk a bit.

  “I’ll be right back,” she said to her aunt.

  At the far end of the lobby to the left of the elevator banks was a long table with three young, pretty women sitting behind it. A sign on the table said, IET.

  She raised an eyebrow as she scanned the women. She doubted they were even out of university. One flicked her long blond hair over her shoulder and most of the men in the area watched attentively. Charlie rolled her eyes.

  Her mind ran over statistics as she walked the lobby. About fifty people. Seventy percent men. Most over thirty-five. Most hung around the check-in desk and the girls there.

  She had almost resigned herself to pushing through the crowd to check in when she felt someone’s eyes on her. She kept her face relaxed as she scanned the crowd again, as though searching for someone.

  The hairs on the back of her neck raised. Who was watching her?

  She barely managed to avoid staring when she finally spotted him. Close to six feet tall, he stood out not because of his height but because instead of a suit or pressed khakis, he wore a leather jacket and jeans. But it wasn’t just his clothes that set him apart. It was the don’t-fuck-with-me attitude that clung to him.

  His gaze caught hers. Her breath stilled. She had the feeling she’d been sighted by a predator—one she wasn’t sure she’d want to get caught by. Her core tightened at the thought.

  He nodded his head just slightly and then his gaze moved on, scanning the room. She frowned as she watched him in return. Was he looking for someone? His leather jacket was unzipped and he wore a T-shirt under it. His brutally short hair could indicate military experience. His left arm was cocked slightly as he stood there, as if he was used to wearing a shoulder holster.

  Or was it just his normal stance? Since not even the police had weapons in England.

  She doubted he worked for the hotel.

  He wasn’t on her list of suspects. She would have remembered that face. Craggy was the word that came to mind, all angles and hard lines, like an unforgiving mountain peak. This was no pretty boy. His nose had a slight bump. Probably from a brawl by the looks of him.

  Not her type at all.

  Cat still stood in line to check in. It seemed like the whole conference had come in this morning. Charlie straightened her shoulders and moved closer to the man with the attitude and the potential concealed weapon. He was probably just security for someone who thought they were a big shot.

  She bit her lip. She should tell Cat about him, but Cat would probably give her another lecture about this being a conference trip and not a mission. Besides, it wasn’t necessary to get close to him or talk to him, she could just observe from a distance.

  Or, she could walk straight up to him.

  His gaze zeroed in on her within seconds of her decision, and the beginning of her approach. He didn’t move, just studied her as she walked. She almost reached up to smooth her hair, but forced her arms to stay by her sides.

  She’d guess he was close to six feet tall. He had broad shoulders and, based on the way his T-shirt fit under his jacket, he was packed with muscle.

  “Hi,” she said.

  He nodded and then looked away, again scanning the crowd, dismissing her.

  She shifted her feet. Why hadn’t she thought this through?

  “Who do you work for?” she blurted out.

  Seriously, Charlie? Had she really just asked that? No wonder she wasn’t allowed out of the lab.

  His eyes narrowed. “Excuse me?”

  Scottish accent. A tiny scar above one eyebrow. More scars on his hands. His boots were leather, sturdy and well worn. She’d guess steel-toe.

  “You don’t look like a scientist or an engineer.”

  His lip curled. “Really. And what do you think I look like?” Anger edged his voice, making his accent thicken. Whatever she’d said had triggered something in him.

  “Let me explain,” she said. “You’re wearing steel-toe boots, jeans, and a leather jacket. All are appropriate for motorcycle riding. If you drove a bike here, then you most likely aren’t a guest of the conference.”

  He looked beyond her at someone, even as he answered. “Why? Because scientists don’t ride motorcycles?”

  “No, because most of the conference goers bring parts of their work with them to display in the trade booth. It’s very hard to do that on a motorcycle.”

  “And what if I had sent it on ahead?”

  “You have callouses on your hands that imply work with tools.” Or weapons.

  A muscle leapt in his jaw. “A lot of scientists work with tools.”

  Something about his statement made her frown. Was he implying she was a tool?

  “You’re also in better shape than ninety percent of the people here, and you’re watching the crowd.”

  He wasn’t even bothering to look at her anymore, his tone bored. “Maybe I’m looking for someone.”

  She shook her head. “You watch the crowd, but you keep your gaze centered on that one man with glasses. Dr. Levington, I believe. He’s a nuclear scientist and someone tried to kidnap him before. You’re his bodyguard.”

  His eyes flicked to her and then away. “Now that you’ve stated the obvious, Sherlock, why don’t you let me do my job?” His voice was a growl, and he straightened from where he’d leaned against the wall. She almost took a step back.

  Six feet. Definitely six feet tall.

  “I just wanted to confirm my hypothesis,” she said, not sure where her mouth was taking her, or why it had hijacked her brain. “Because you were either in security or you’re a threat to the people here and I would need to take care of you.” Now where had that come from? She wasn’t the one at EDGE who ‘took care of people.’

  But she’d had enough of him dismissing her.

  He looked at her. Really looked. His gaze traveled from her head past her creamy sweater and jeans, down to her feet clad in sensible boots, and back up. Did it linger on her hips and chest? Her face heated. This man was really too arrogant for words.

  “And how would you do that?” he asked.

  She would grab his hand—specifically the meaty part of his thumb—push it back and twist at the wrist, putting pressure on the joint, forcing him to his knees. Dante had taught her that. Jujitsu was every woman’s friend.

  “Can I give you a tip?” she said instead. “Try wearing khakis if you want to blend in.”

  A small twinkle of humor hit his hazel eyes for just a moment, so brief she almost didn’t see it. “I don’t own any.�
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  For some reason, the way his low voice said those words sounded suggestive to her. She swallowed hard.

  “You really should,” she said, trying to stay on topic. “And perhaps wear a pair of glasses.”

  He put his hands on his hips so his jacket spread away from his body slightly, with the added benefit of tightening his T-shirt across the lean planes of his abdomen. She bet this guy had a six pack, and added gym rat to her internal description of him. Definitely not someone she needed to know or worry about, no matter how much she wanted to see him without a shirt.

  Where had that thought come from? She chalked it up to a lack of sleep.

  “I’m a bodyguard. How am I going to intimidate someone if I’m dressed like Clark Kent?”

  By giving them the same hard stare he was giving her now. “You like to scare people?”

  The humor in his eyes left as he heaved a sigh. “Go away, Sherlock. Some of us are working.”

  What had she said?

  “Charlie?” Cat’s voice came from a few feet behind her. Charlie didn’t turn, but continued to stare at this man she wasn’t sure she liked. So why did she find him so fascinating?

  Hazel eyes scrutinized Cat before resting on her face again. “Charlie?”

  “Charlotte,” she said.

  He nodded. “Run along, Sherlock. I’m done playing.”

  Her eyes widened as anger shot through her. She pressed her lips together. Fascinating or not, this man was not worth her time.

  * * *

  Jack tracked the little Sherlock’s progress to the elevators on the far wall. He hated to admit it, but she was right. He needed to buy a pair of khakis if he wanted to blend in more. If Spider was here then it wouldn’t do for Jack to attract too much attention.

  Though his client was doing that for him anyway. Since Jack’s personal funds wouldn’t cover a week’s stay at a posh hotel, he’d gotten an old buddy who’d started a security company to help him out. That’s how he’d wound up as a bodyguard for Dr. Levington.

  It was supposed to be the perfect cover. He just had to be near a quiet scientist while he watched the crowd, stayed at the hotel, and spent his time searching for Spider.